


Ponytail

by yeaka



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Philip might get a haircut.





	Ponytail

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Travelers or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It would be a total bummer coming back to the garage if not for Philip. The world outside is often beautiful despite the wealth of pollution, litter, and chaos—climate change hasn’t _quite_ destroyed the atmosphere yet, and the weather in Washington is occasionally pleasant and sunny. The water’s still mostly blue, the grass still mostly green, and a few fascinating animals have yet to become extinct. Trevor thoroughly enjoys each and every thing about the twenty-first’s surviving natural resources throughout his lengthy run. 

Then he makes it back to the old, worn-out, rusted warehouse with bits of broken garbage and technology all over the floor. It’s too dark inside, and the lighting’s too industrial. But Philip’s also there, so it’s not a bad place to be. 

Philip’s bent over the keyboard, like he almost always is, flickering through different screens on the computer. Trevor grunts, “Hey,” as he wanders in, bee-lining for the couch. He stops on the way to nudge Philip’s shoulder and ask, “Want to go get something for dinner in a bit?” Food in the twenty-first continues to be a marvel. And it’s infinitely better when shared.

But Philip answers, “Sorry, can’t. I’m leaving to get a haircut in a few minutes.”

Trevor was in the process of leaving, but he stops and comes back at that. He circles around to Philip’s front, even though there’s plenty to look at in the back. He stares long enough that Philip glances up at him and asks, “What? ...Why’re you looking at me like that?”

It’s not really Trevor’s place to say anything. Philip’s body is his own, or at least it is now. But Trevor can’t help admitting, “That’s a shame.”

“A shame?” Philip’s brow rises. He lifts a hand to ruffle through the honey-colour strands that tumble right down to his shoulder. “It’s way too long like this.”

Trevor reaches out to thread his fingers through a thick curtain of Philip’s hair. He brushes it slowly back, savouring the softness, and repeats the motion afterwards. He loves watching each slender strand topple back into place, and the way the light hits the ombre tones of deep brown bleeding into gold. Sometimes, when Philip’s just brushed it into place, it falls straight and frames his face in perfect symmetry, but mostly it rides in waves that add volume and dimension. Trevor plays with it until Philip quirks a brow and presses, “Trev?”

Trevor tells him flatly, “I like it this length.”

Something changes in Philip’s eyes—his cheeks darken. He hurriedly looks away, turning his head, but Trevor’s hand stays where it is, fingers still entwined in Philip’s gorgeous hair. Philip mumbles, “’Guess I could just get a small trim.”

Even though Philip’s not looking, Trevor smiles. He relays, “Thank you.” Then he drops his hand and continues to the couch.


End file.
